


On Cloud Nine

by trajektoria



Category: Mass Effect: Andromeda
Genre: Coffee Shops, Comedy, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Sara's flirting game is strong, Scott is too awkward to function, Second-Hand Embarrassment, Sibling Rivalry, seriously so much fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-11
Updated: 2017-08-11
Packaged: 2018-12-13 19:04:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11766369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trajektoria/pseuds/trajektoria
Summary: The Ryder twins are working together in the only proper coffee shop on the Citadel. Trouble starts when both of them develop a crush on one of the regulars, a certain handsome Alliance pilot. But how far are they willing to go to get his attention...?





	On Cloud Nine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hoely_owl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hoely_owl/gifts).



> This fic was written for [hoely-owl](https://hoely-owl.tumblr.com/). I really hope you're going to have tons of fun with it!
> 
> Big thanks to [captainjennhart](http://captainjennhart.tumblr.com/) who is the best beta ever. Honorable mention to [sybillspace](http://sybillspace.tumblr.com/) who was almost as enthusiastic about this fic as I was. <3

The Citadel – proud home to 13 billion people belonging to races from all across the galaxy, each with their own unique tastes, but none adverse to trying out new things. The station was always bustling with life, teeming with locals and travelers alike, all of them sooner or later craving a bite to eat, a refreshing drink, or simply a breather from all the commotion, somewhere to recharge their batteries in a peaceful environment.

The Cloud Nine offered all that and a lot more. Under this so very human name hid the only proper coffee shop on the Citadel, specializing in serving various brews and blends imported from Earth. A taste of nostalgia for humans, a sense of the exotic for other races. For those who could digest the drinks, at least. Turian and quarian guests could indulge in suitable alternatives better in tune with their dextro-amino acids based biology. All human staff of the establishment did their best to please.

Scott poured fresh coffee beans into the electric grinder and perched at the edge of the stool, enjoying a short break. As always in these infrequent moments of respite, he caught himself thinking that, as surprising as it was, he really liked working here. At first the idea seemed preposterous – someone training to be a soldier working as a barista during holidays? – but he was glad that Sara convinced him to try. The smells of coffee, caramel, cinnamon and his favorite vanilla, along with the soft clinking of glasses, spoons scraping against plates, and the constant buzzing of machines soothed him somehow. A balm over his body and soul after months of living on the edge of mental and physical exertion. It seemed that his sister knew him better than he did himself.

Scott glanced briefly at his twin. Sara, in her perfectly ironed blue uniform, was chatting with a turian, a C-Sec rookie sent here every day with a mission to fetch a few steaming cups for his superiors. Scott had to bite his cheek not to burst out laughing at the way his sister fluttered her eyelashes and twirled a lock of hair around her index finger like in some cheap romantic comedy. Well, she’d always had a thing for turians. Not wanting to be creepy, Scott averted his eyes and instead let his gaze wander lazily over the interior of the coffee shop.

The stores and bars on the Citadel almost universally had this special kind of austere sterility about them, so characteristic for a space station. Here, it didn’t feel that way at all. Stepping over the threshold of the Cloud Nine seemed almost like an instant trip to Earth. The place was cozy, walls painted mint green with light brown paneling to match and beige matte tiles, very pretty and – what made Scott and the rest of the staff very happy – easy to clean. The furniture was simple, plastic imitating wood, but it didn’t look cheap under the bright lights of the lamps, their colorful glass lampshades molded into unusual flowery shapes. At this hour, late morning after the craze of rush hour died down, there weren’t many customers inside. Most just took a cup to go; only a few people decided to sit at the small, round tables. Sipping their beverage of choice, the patrons stared out the window, fiddled with their omni-tools or talked to one another, their words lost beneath the delicate music seeping from the loudspeakers. Scott recognized most of the faces, having seen them here almost every day. Sadly, the one he wanted to see most wasn't among them.

Completely lost in daydreams about the warm embrace of a handsome pilot, he gave a start, surprised by a light tap on his shoulder. Sara.

“Citadel to Scott,” she said, playful smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “You were light years away. Again.”

“No, in fact I didn't move an inch.” He shook his head lightly, chasing away the image of a pair of lively golden eyes. “What’s up?”

“As I was just saying,” she paused to give him a telling look of disapproval, “Fizz told me that Dana told him that yesterday we had a special guest in Cloud Nine!”

“Yeah?” he replied without much interest. “Who?”

“Commander Shepard!” Sara lowered her voice to conspiratorial tones, but it still came out almost like a squeal.

“Oh really?” The concentration of skepticism in those two short words exceeded all acceptable norms at least threefold. “Remind me, who did she see last time? Elvis? Bigfoot? Blasto?”

“Ha, you’re just jealous that all the interesting stuff happens on our days off.”

Scott decided not to grace that assertion with an answer and brushed an imaginary speck of dust from his shirt, the same blue uniform that Sara wore, just in a male cut. His sister didn’t seem deterred by his silence though. She sighed, her expression dreamy.

“It’s so unfair. Maybe Shepard will come here again? I’d like to show the commander the _whole_ menu.”

 Scott groaned.

“God, you’re desperate. And I thought you dig turians, not humans?”

Sara crossed her arms over her chest and jutted out her chin, as if challenging him.

“I dig hot people, no matter the race.”

“But do hot people dig you?”

She gasped, offended.

“At least I _can_ find a date, baby brother.”

“Imaginary one if anything.”

“You're not only a jerk, but a jealous jerk,” she said, and like the responsible adult she was, stuck out her tongue at him. “I’m far superior at making a pass at people than you.”

Scott chuckled. He opened his mouth for a follow-up teasing remark, but the sight of the café door opening arrested his attention.

All thoughts faded from his mind, overcome by the obscenely loud hammering of his heart.

A young human male with tawny skin, short dark hair and golden eyes entered the Cloud Nine, and as he did it seemed that all the air went out, at least from Scott's lungs. One of the regulars, but the familiarity of his silhouette didn’t diminish the effect he had on Scott, not unlike a thunder hitting him right in his chest, preventing him from breathing, moving, even blinking. He couldn’t peel his eyes away from the man, who looked beyond unbelievable in the Alliance pilot uniform. It fit him perfectly, like a second skin. He moved with such confidence and ease, as if he was always in charge of the situation, no matter what. And at the same time exuding so much roguish charm that it wouldn’t be hard to mistake him for one of the actors playing smugglers in all those outrageous vid shows Scott enjoyed so much. As always – not that Scott followed the man’s habits obsessively, no, he was just observant – the pilot lingered for a while at the door, his magnetic eyes scanning the room in search of the most convenient free table. Almost as if he was checking for escape routes for a swift evacuation should it come to that. A military habit most likely, acquired after seeing some real action.

Sara whistled right next to Scott's ear.

“Guess it’s my lucky day after all. Not Commander Shepard, but he will do.”

Scott gave her a dark look.

“Sara, back off.”

“No way, Scotty. He’s hot. Scoot over.”

“Really? There’s literally one guy that I like and you still want to hit on him?”

“Life is brutal, baby brother. Let the best barista win,” she said, winking at him, which only further soured Scott’s mood.

“It’s my turn to serve him, anyway!”

“No, it’s not!”

“It is!”

“No!”

“Yes!”

The twins glared at one another, the air crackling with tension between them.

“There’s only one way to resolve this.” Scott was serious and solemn. So was Sara.

“Bring it on, loser.”

Not breaking eye contact, each extended a fist, shook it three times in sync and then chose their symbol: rock in Sara's case, scissors for Scott. She whooped cheerfully. He groaned, the bitter tastes of defeat and disappointment on his tongue.

The handsome pilot chose precisely that moment to approach the counter, raising an eyebrow at them. His beautiful golden eyes crinkled with amusement. Scott wasn't sure whether he'd rather hide in the fridge or swoon right into his arms.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything?” the man asked, with a slight accent.

“Of course not!” Sara twirled on her heel to face him, giving him her best billion credit smile. “It’s so nice to see you again! You want your regular order? Irish coffee?”

“Yes, please,” he replied, still with merriment, and pressed a few buttons on his omni-tool to transfer the money. Sara chatted him up, the usual small talk about new items on the menu and the latest popular vids. Scott pined from the sidelines, the very picture of misery, pretending that he was checking if there was enough milk in the jugs. He took a small consolation in the fact that although the pilot’s replies were polite, they weren’t effusive or encouraging to continue the conversation further, so Sara eventually had to give up or risk annoying the customer.

“Alright, one Irish coffee coming right up. Your call-sign, still Anubis?”

“That’s right.” The pilot chuckled softly as if hearing a joke and nodded at her in acknowledgement. His gaze lingered on Scott for a second longer than necessary before he turned around and walked to his table. Or so Scott thought. Hoped. Begged to be true.

“Phew. I think I need a cold shower now,” Sara whispered, giving him a nudge in the rib. Scott didn’t appreciate that, just as he couldn’t stand his sister’s cheerful humming as she prepared the requested coffee. “Green is really not your color, Scotty.”

“Step in a keeper’s poo,” he grumbled.

“Wow, even Avina is wittier than you.” With a smirk, far too smug for Scott’s liking, she drew a chocolate heart on top of the coffee’s cream. Not just any chocolate heart, but one with a small smiling face inside.

“You seriously think this will work?” he said, pursing his lips.

“Of course it will. I’m a pro.”

Scott kept his fingers crossed for the failure of the endeavor.

The café’s policy was to call out the name given by the customer while ordering once the drink was ready, so that they could fetch it themselves. However, handsome patrons boasted certain privileges. Sara put the mug on a tray along with a small plate, a spoon, a few packets of sugar and a paper rose folded from a napkin.

When had she even learned to do that? 

Scott watched, fires of agony smoldering deep within him, as his sister sauntered towards the pilot, her hips swaying in an exaggerated, almost comical way. She beamed at the special customer, putting the mug and the plate down, leaning much closer to him than necessary so that he could take a whiff of her perfume whether he liked it or not. What a dirty trick. Her charms and effort seemed to be wasted on the pilot though. Staring out the window, lost in thought, he barely looked at her as he thanked her for bringing him his order.

Scott couldn’t help but to revel in an unhealthy dosage of Schadenfreude when Sara returned crestfallen to the counter.

“A pro, huh?”

Her glare could have melted glaciers.

“Shut up. As if you could do any better.”

“I can and I will.”

Scott felt Sara’s unconvinced gaze on him as he took a deep breath to boost his morale and accumulate some courage. It was insane, he knew, but desperate times, desperate measures, right? Quickly, before he could chicken out, he grabbed a napkin from a pile, scribbled a message on it away from Sara’s prying eyes, and used it to pick up one of the white chocolate cookies, making a small package. Then he power-walked towards the pilot’s table, faking a suave confidence of which he had none.

“Excuse me…” Scott nearly verbally keyboard-smashed when those golden eyes focused on him. There was a tiny bit of cream on the corner of the man’s lips, which was very distracting. As was the nagging thought of kissing it away. “I uhm… M-my coworker forgot that we have a… a special promotion today.  To every ahm… Irish coffee there’s a free cookie. On the house!” he blurted out, nervously putting the wrapped cookie on the plate.

“Oh. Thanks.” Choirs of angels began to sing in Scott’s head when the man smiled at him, only to fall into deathly silence when he turned his head away again.

Well then. Hopefully the message would be more successful than him. His heart beating deafeningly in his chest, Scott returned to the counter.

His sister had no mercy.

“That was kind of pathetic, baby bro.”

“Just you wait,” he said, scrunching his nose with dignity. “He’ll be floored.”

The twins watched the man eat his cookie like a pair of hawks. If Scott clenched his fingers even a little stronger around the wet mug from the dishwasher, which he held for comfort, it would shatter into porcelain confetti.

All that tension for nothing. The pilot, his head turned to the window, wiped his face with the napkin, crumpled it and let it fall onto the plate, completely abandoned and insignificant.

Scott sighed, his shoulders slumping. The pilot didn't care about his message. Or perhaps he simply hadn't noticed it. Yes, Scott preferred that version. Still, he was heartbroken.

“What did you write there?” Sara, always the curious one, couldn't stop herself.

“My email.”

“Just email? Come on, I know you.”

“Okay, okay.” Scott scratched the side of his nose. “I might have added... well... a pick up line.”

“Oh my.” She giggled, not even pretending to treat this seriously. “Which one? _Something's wrong with my eyes, because I can't take them off you_?”

“Uhm... no. A different one.” He sighed again, knowing that his sister wouldn't leave him alone until he spilled the beans. Better to get this over with quickly. “ _I hope your license won't get suspended for driving me crazy_.”

Sara snorted with laughter and had to clasp a hand over her mouth or else the whole café would shake from her thunderous guffaw.

“Aww, Scotty, you've really got it bad for him, don't you?”

He stared at his laughing sister with reproach. No further comment was required, his pout was telling enough.

The sound of someone clearing their throat caught their attention.

The pilot. Standing there. And trying his darndest to keep a straight face.

Scott wanted nothing more than to duck and take a plunge into a garbage can where he belonged. But his body decided to override his brain, assuming direct control, and take a completely different course of action. Pushing past his sister, he took the spot right in front of the treasured customer. The most goofy and awkward smile this side of the galaxy curved his lips.

“Yes? D-do you need anything else?” Scott heard himself saying. Just a slight stutter, wow, impressive; his flirting game was improving.

“The cookie made me hungry. I think I’d like a sandwich now. That one with cheese,” said the man, pointing to a plate on display in the glass case.

“Of course.” Scott tapped the order on the computer, his gaze flicking hopelessly from the line of the pilot’s jaw to the screen. He swallowed hard. “Anything else?”

“Yeah. A caramel smoothie with it, please.”

“Good choice, it's great!” As soon as the words left his mouth Scott groaned inwardly. And yet even more words followed. “My colleague will prepare it and I’ll bring it to you.”

“Sounds good.” The pilot smiled and transferred the required amount of money from his omni-tool.

Scott pretended not to feel the angry kick to the shin his sister gave him. It wasn’t that hard since he was full to the brim with other feelings and ready to burst.  And one of those feelings, the most burning one, was the desperate need to somehow impress this man.

He got an idea.

With a flourish, he extended his hand towards the glass case, feeling the power tingling on his fingertips. They lit up with purplish blue light as the sandwich levitated to him.

“You’re a biotic?” asked the pilot, visibly surprised. It wasn’t a negative type of surprise, which was nice. Scott had assumed correctly that Alliance personnel were more open-minded than the average human. Besides, there were stranger things on the Citadel than people able to move objects with their brains.  

“Yeah,” Scott beamed, wanting to pat himself on the back. “A very good one too.”

“Just like me,” Sara chimed in, reminding them of her presence. She made a glass and a straw float straight to her hand. “Runs in the family, I suppose.”

The pilot moved his gaze from one barista to the other, seeming to look, _truly_ look at them both for the first time. He connected the dots.

 “You’re siblings?”

“Twins,” they said in unison and promptly glared at one another.

The man laughed.

“Twin biotics working in a coffee shop. I think I’ve seen it all now.”

Before he could think and decide against it, Scott opened his dumb mouth.

“I bet I know at least one thing you haven’t seen yet.”

“Oh yeah?” The pilot quirked an eyebrow, leaning against the counter. “Like what?”

“Like my under…” …wear, oh God, oh Jesus, he’d almost said it aloud, what the hell, brain? Paling like a sheet washed in bleach and chalk, Scott desperately scrambled for something, anything, even remotely intelligent to say. “…my… ehrhm… undergraduate curriculum. At my military school haha.”

Nailed it. Like a lid to the coffin of his everlasting shame. And did he really just say ‘haha’ instead of laughing?

With that smirk on his face, there was no way that the pilot hadn’t seen right through him.

“Well, I bet that your… _curriculum_ is pretty tight now.”

Scott could only stare in shock as the man took the sandwich and walked back to his table.

When Sara started to giggle maniacally, Scott hid his face in his hands.

“That was terrible. I’m changing my name and emigrating to Sur’Kesh.”

“Sur’Kesh is too close, try Andromeda.” Sara touched his arm in a faux comforting manner. She looked as if she was having the time of her life when she put the glass full of caramel smoothie on the counter. “Go get him, tiger. I’ll be here laughing my butt off and devising a better plan of how to win him over than making a complete idiot of myself.”

“Thanks, sis.” He gave her a heavy look. “I know you always have my back.”

She winked at him.

Scott picked up the glass and moved towards the pilot’s table, a condemned man's march to the gallows. May the execution of his heart at least be swift.

“Here you are,” he said, setting the glass down in front of the pilot. Luckily, Scott managed not to spill anything, despite his hands shaking like someone had hooked them up to an electric current.

“Thanks, Scott.”

The younger Ryder almost keeled over.

“Y-you know my name?” His voice shook almost as much as his hands.

The pilot regarded him with thinly veiled amusement.

“Well, the plaque on your chest rather spoils the mystery.”

“Oh. Right.” Scott dropped his gaze to the ID tag pinned to his uniform. Wow, he truly was an idiot. A very flustered idiot, blushing a more garish shade of red than the Afterlife’s neon. And of course he had to make everything even worse because that was how he rolled. “Wish you had one yourself.” The nervous titter he let out made him cringe. But he couldn’t stop, stress fuelling the flapping of his tongue. “I mean what’s with that Anubis thing? That can’t be your real name, right?”

Unless it was, and then Scott would have no other choice but to hurl himself out of the nearest airlock. But thankfully, this time the universe cut him some slack.

“No, it’s not my real name.” The man chuckled. For a moment Scott thought that that was it, as the customer wasn't big on sharing private matters, but then further explanation followed. “It’s the call-sign of my shuttle. Everyone kept calling me that and it stuck. Not a big fan of codenames, but, well, it helps with anonymity. And besides, I earned that one. I'm a very good pilot,” he said, puffing out his chest with pride.

Scott stared dreamily at this mysterious man, tiny hearts floating all around him. He could listen to his voice for hours, even if the man was just reciting random numbers.

“So that’s what I should call you? Anubis?” he asked, clear notes of hope lurking among the words.

“You can.” The man tilted his head slightly, hair falling to the side. Scott had to fight the impulse to smooth the stray strands away. “Although my friends use my real name. It’s Reyes. Reyes Vidal.”

“Reyes Vidal…” he repeated softly, smiling like the biggest goofball on the Citadel, just seconds away from melting into a puddle right at the man’s feet. Was he now counted among the pilot's friends? If that was the case he would ascend to a different plane of existence.

It took Scott a moment to realize that the pilot was staring at him intently. The pull back into the reality was a violent one.

“Oh, um… You need anything else? Reyes?” 

“No, I’m good. Scott.” Scott could swear that Reyes wanted to laugh at him, but was probably too polite for that.

 “Ah.” God, he was terrible at this whole flirting thing, wasn't he?

A beat of a pause.

Reyes kept staring.

“Oh. Right. I’m still here.” Nervous laughter bearing traces of an impending heartbreak. “Sorry.” With the utmost reluctance Scott turned on his heel and started back towards the counter, readying himself for a flurry of mockery from Sara in her worst ‘I told you so’ version of herself. But he only managed to take a single step before one simple command halted his leg midair.

“Wait.” Scott looked over his shoulder. Those golden eyes, crinkling playfully, would be the death of him, that much was obvious. “I think I’d like something else after all.”

“Yes?” Scott faced him fully, holding his breath, returning gladly to the table.

“Something sweet.”

“Sure! What would it be?” He grinned, all enthusiasm and chirpiness.

“Thanks, that was exactly what I had in mind.”

“Huh?” Scott blinked in confusion.

“Something sweet. Your smile. You have a really pretty one.”

Inner Scott screamed, flailed, ran around the table a couple of times and fainted. Outer Scott reacted in a slightly more subdued way – he blushed scarlet, crimson, and blood orange all at once, feeling Sara’s eyes drilling a hole in the back of his skull.

“Thanks. You too. Pretty,” he blabbed without thinking and at once kicked himself mentally. But Reyes laughed. That had to be a good sign, right? Emboldened, or maybe just too embarrassed to care anymore, he let the words tumble out. “Maybe you can grab a coffee sometime? We, I mean, we. Um… not here, but somewhere else? Together? Doesn’t have to be a coffee. Can be something else entirely. Not a coffee. Unless you want one. Then coffee is fine.”

Scott hoped that the smile on Reyes’s face was an amiable one and not an indication that the man wanted to mock his stupid ass into oblivion. Even if he deserved it.

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

Scott's eyes widened so much that a millimeter more and his eyeballs would fall out of their sockets and splash onto the floor.

“You would? Really?”

“Sure.” Reyes nodded. “I can even give you a ride in my shuttle. Unless, of course, I lose my license first for driving you crazy.”

Scott gasped, feeling how all the blood in his body flowed away from his face, causing a deathly pallor, only to return there with a vengeance of a boiling blush. Oh God. So Reyes did read that message. In hindsight, maybe writing it hadn't been his best idea ever. The line spoken aloud sounded terrible. Beyond terrible. Beyond the beyondest of terrible.

“Oh, uhm... it was just a joke. You're not driving me crazy. Not at all! Not in a bad way. I mean...” he waffled on, feeling as though he were sinking deeper and deeper into the quicksands of awkwardness with every word that left his mouth. The realization made him feel even more awkward, totally flustered. And what did flustered fools do? Certainly not control their hand movements. One sweeping, wild and awkward gesture later and Scott sent the glass of caramel smoothie flying. Right onto the pilot's shirt.

“Oh my God,” Scott yelped and held the glass with his biotic powers, trying to do some damage control. But it was too late –  most of the contents had already spilled, leaving an ugly brown stain on the otherwise spotless uniform. “I am so sorry. Truly, I’m an idiot, I’m so so sorry,” he rambled, grabbing the napkin with his scribbles from the plate and pressing it to the fabric in a hopeless attempt to minimize the disaster.

He looked up with dread at Reyes’s face. It was unreadable, completely expressionless. Scott wanted to bang his head against the table. Repeatedly. Not only had he completely obliterated all chances for a date, but he could also get fired. Wow. The universe really hated him.

“I am really sorry,” he repeated, sounding pathetic even to his own ears.

“Well then, there’s only one thing I can do right now,” said Reyes, cool and collected, which scared Scott witless.

“Yes?” He swallowed hard, seconds away from falling to his knees and begging tearfully for forgiveness.

“I need to take this shirt off and try to wash the stain away in the bathroom. And you are going to help me with that.”

Scott blinked in surprise, then blinked again, as his brain slowly began processing what was going on. Was he just deluding himself or…?

The impish smile growing on Reyes’s face seemed to confirm that it wasn’t just a fever dream. Scott felt his cheeks burn. Not only cheeks, his whole body was on fire.

The pilot winked and stood up from the table, moving in the direction of the bathroom. Scott’s heart thumped so hard he feared it might burst from his chest and chase after the man. Quickly, before that happened for real, he rushed after Reyes, still in awe, casting a half-puzzled and half-euphoric glance at his sister. Sara stared back at him, her jaw dropping onto the counter. An oddly satisfying sight.

 

* * *

 

A few minutes later Scott and Reyes emerged from the bathroom. Although having a wet shirt was hardly pleasant, the pilot seemed content. And so was Scott. More than that – he was floating on air, his eyes blown and gleaming, his face radiant as a Christmas tree. They walked to the counter, not paying any attention to Sara. Both seemed to have developed tunnel vision, unable to see anything but one another.

“I’m sorry for the smoothie,” Scott apologized once again, biting slightly on his lower lip to somehow curb the bright grin from consuming his whole face. “Can I offer you a complimentary one as a compensation?”

Reyes shook his head.

“I’d love to, but I really need to go now. Maybe tomorrow?”

“Sure!” Scott cried out, immediately embarrassed by this overeager reaction. Cue nervous laughter. “I mean, I’ll be here. I’m working tomorrow.”

“Great.” Reyes smiled and his smile was the most beautiful thing Scott had ever seen in his life. “At what time do you finish your shift?”

“At six.”

“Okay. You’re free afterwards? We could watch a vid or something.”

“Yeah! I think there’s a new Blasto coming up.”

“Blasto it is, then. Nothing like some mindless action comedy.” Reyes chuckled. “So see you tomorrow, yeah?”

“Yeah!”

Reyes hesitated for just a second but then leaned forward and brushed his lips against Scott’s stubbled cheek. With one last fond gaze, the pilot turned around and left the Cloud Nine. Scott stared after him with a dopey expression, his fingers inadvertently stroking the very spot marked by Reyes’s mouth.

“I can’t believe it,” muttered Sara, clearly in a state of shock. “Pinch me. Or better yet, blast me out of the airlock into the merciful embrace of the infinite void.”

“Green is so not your color, Sara,” Scott said, barely suppressing smug laughter. Maybe the universe didn’t hate him all that much after all.

 


End file.
